


No I Don't Mean to Rush Your Heart

by embroiderama



Series: Redwing AU [6]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Police, Established Relationship, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Peter recovers from his injury, he and Neal find their lives and their relationship changing in ways they didn't expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No I Don't Mean to Rush Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story set in my [Redwing AU](http://archiveofourown.org/series/63106), and may not make a great deal of sense out of context. Peter is a detective, and Neal is not a criminal, but they met when Neal was the victim of a violent crime. This is set shortly after [The World Below Is Not So Mean That It Can Make Us Fall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1113007), in which Peter was injured on the job. The title is from Hem's song "Redwing."

Peter was glad to be alive and glad to be home from the hospital, so very glad to have Neal staying in the apartment with him, but he was starting to hate the realities of recovering from being shot, from being nearly killed. His bed, which had felt like such a beloved friend when he first got home from the hospital, felt lumpier and less comfortable every day. His recliner was too deep, his sofa too low, the TV not big enough and the walls of the apartment entirely too close. Peter could get out, but he didn't have the energy to go far, and he felt nervous, sometimes, being out by himself when he was so much weaker than usual. He and Neal went out for a short walk every evening, but Neal had to spend his days working while Peter stayed at home, mostly alone.

While Peter had been in the hospital, Neal had gotten behind on the administrative work he did for Ellen's Place, and now he was struggling to catch up. Peter hated to see the way the work stress and the stress from everything that had happened in the hospital wore on Neal, and he hated even more that his options for helping with that stress were minimal. The best way--Peter's favorite way--to get Neal out of the wired ball of tension in his mind was sex. Peter would explore his body slowly, touching him with fingers and tongue until the tension leaked out of his muscles, and then fuck him deep and slow. Neal was especially beautiful when he was barely awake, lax limbs sprawled out on the bed, smiling vaguely with sweaty hair in his eyes. If Peter could paint, that would be his favorite subject.

Unfortunately, the only way Peter could paint was with a roller, and the only way he could fuck at that moment was in his dreams. Just rolling over in bed made his ribs hurt, and his lungs could barely keep up with the athletic feat of ambling slowly down the sidewalk. His dick still worked, but it was nonetheless useless, and Peter was starting to hate that too. Having Neal living with him, even if it was temporary, even if Neal hadn't moved many of his things into the apartment, was a dream, but his dreams hadn't involved Neal taking care of him in such a one-sided way.

Peter stood up from the couch, wincing at the pain in his ribs no matter how carefully he moved, and walked over to look at the bookcase. One of the cookbooks on the bottom shelf caught his eye, and he knew that retrieving it was going to suck but he took it slowly and breathed through the pain as he bent down to pull it from the shelf. His head spun a little when he stood back up, but he felt steady after a moment, and he went to sit at his tiny kitchen table to look through it. He wasn't the best or most creative cook, but he could put together a decent meal, and he thought he was strong enough to manage the work involved without falling over.

He pulled out his phone and texted Neal, _How does Italian sound for dinner?_

A few minutes later, Neal responded, _Sounds good. Do you want to call it in and I'll pick it up?_

 _I'll handle it,_ Peter replied, and he started making a list of what he needed. Peter called in his order to the closest grocery store that delivered and promised a great tip if it got there quickly then got to his feet and started assembling the pans and tools he would need. It felt good to have a project, and if he couldn't make love to Neal the way he wanted to at least he could take a shot at satisfying his lover's taste buds. It was a start.

By the time Peter heard Neal's key in the door, he was back on the sofa, tired but pleased by the results of his work. His lasagna was sitting on top of the stove, cooling down to an edible temperature, there were two salads chilling in the fridge, and a bottle of red wine was sitting open on the table.

As Neal came through the door, he paused and inhaled deeply then smiled over at Peter. "Something smells wonderful. Where did—“ Neal looked over toward the kitchen and tilted his head. “You cooked?”

“I am capable, you know.” Peter levered himself to his feet, and Neal met him a few steps from the sofa with a kiss that went a long way toward soothing Peter’s restless irritation.

“I know,” Neal said, taking Peter’s hand in his as they walked over to the kitchen table. “I just don’t want you to wear yourself out on my behalf.”

“It’s not like I can wear myself out for you in any better ways.”

“Soon. I would say that I can’t wait but I can. I can wait because you’re going to be okay.”

Peter sighed. “It feels like I’ve been recovering forever, like by the time I’m off of the injured list all of our condoms will have expired and all of the lube dried up.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Peter resisted Neal’s attempt to take over dinner preparations and finally Neal sat at the table while Peter brought out the salads and served the lasagna. It had come out well, the cheese nicely browned on top, and watching Neal eat it made Peter feel like he was good for one thing, at least.

When the food was gone and they were sipping their wine, Peter taking it very slow since he’d barely had any alcohol since his injury, Neal gave him a thoughtful look. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, about the condoms.”

“Yeah?” Peter didn’t know where Neal was going with this subject, and he tried to put aside his fear that Neal wanted to use those condoms to go be with somebody else while Peter was out of commission. Neal had never seemed interested in fooling around, but everybody had needs. Everybody had a breaking point.

“I was thinking that maybe we don’t need them. I haven’t been with anybody other than you since—well, since before I got hurt.”

“It’s been about that long for me, too. I just never thought. I’m—it’s such a habit.”

“It’s a good habit, and if you want to keep using them—“

“No.” Peter reached across the table and took Neal’s hand. “No, I want to take that step. I trust you. Thank you.”

“I trust you, too. In so many ways.” Neal smiled then looked down at his empty plate. “How about you let me do the dishes?”

“Fair enough.” The truth was that the activity of the day had left Peter sore and worn out, but he didn’t regret it one bit.

~~~

Neal sat in the waiting room at Peter’s doctor’s office and tried not to remember the hospital waiting rooms, all of the hours he spent there waiting to see if Peter would live or die, all of the fear and exhaustion that had overwhelmed him. Neal did his best to shake off the mood because Peter was _fine_. Peter was bored and sore and occasionally grouchy, and they were both worried about exactly how full Peter’s recovery would be, but Peter was breathing and walking and sleeping next to him in bed every night. Peter had told Neal not to bother coming along to this appointment, but Neal wanted to be there.

When Peter walked back into the waiting room with a smile on his face, Neal let go of the anxiety that had been pulling at him since they left for the appointment. “Good news?”

Peter nodded and gave Neal a sly look. “Very good.”

“How good are we talking about? He’s not releasing you to work yet, is he?”

“No, not yet, but this is even better.” Peter leaned in and whispered in Neal’s ear, “Mild sexual activity.”

Neal blinked and felt a grin spread across his face. “That’s excellent news. You’re sure?”

“We’ll take it slow.”

As exciting as Peter’s news was, Neal had to go to work after the appointment, and Peter had a physical therapy appointment later in the afternoon. By the time Neal got home, Peter was exhausted, and they fell into bed together without more than a kiss. The next morning, Neal woke to the sensation of fingers combing through his hair, and he opened his eyes to see Peter sitting on the bed next to him, looking down with a soft smile. “Good morning,” Neal said, his voice morning-rough.

“Good morning. Do you have to work this morning?”

“I was thinking about doing some work in the studio but if you have something better in mind I could be convinced to change that plan.” Neal smirked and sat up.

“I thought we might take a walk on the _mild_ side.”

Neal rolled his eyes at Peter’s bad pun then leaned in and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to Peter’s lips. “Be right back.”

Five minutes later, Neal climbed back on the bed with clean teeth and a freshly shaved face, feeling oddly like it was the first time for them all over again. He nudged Peter to sit with his back against some pillows at the top of the bed then straddled Peter’s thighs and set his hands on Peter’s chest, touching lightly. Peter’s arm was still out of commission, strapped to his chest but Neal could feel the movement of Peter breathing under his palms, proof that Peter’s lungs were working just fine.

“You’re not going to hurt me.” Peter put his good hand at Neal’s waist and rubbed his thumb over the skin of Neal’s belly, just above his boxers. Neal closed his eyes and let himself just feel all the places they were touching.

“I would hate myself if I did,” he whispered. Neal ran his hands up and felt the strength in Peter’s shoulders. They swayed in toward each other and kissed languorously, tongues slipping against each other as their hips started moving in time with their breath. Neal was so hard, and he hadn’t had anything other than guilty, hurried jack-off sessions in the shower in the weeks since Peter was injured. “Please,” he said, arching his back to push his cloth-covered cock against Peter’s hips.

“Oh, babe.” Peter carefully pushed down the waistband of Neal’s boxers and wrapped his hand loosely around Neal’s cock, sending a wave of heat and need washing through Neal’s body.

“Please, please.” Neal closed his eyes and let his head fall back, and soon the touch of Peter’s lips on his throat joined the grip of Peter’s hand, gentle friction and warm breath. It was Peter, Peter under him and around him, Peter alive and loving him and touching him just right. Neal’s orgasm rolled through him, and he had just enough wherewithal to slump forward onto the uninjured side of Peter’s chest while he panted and breathed in the healthy smell of Peter’s sweat. “Oh, god.” Neal sighed then hummed at the touch of Peter’s fingers in his hair again.

When Neal’s heart had slowed down, he sat back and looked down to see that Peter was still hard. Peter was being so patient, but the need was clear in his eyes. Neal scooted back to give himself more room to work then pushed down the front of Peter’s pajama pants and sank down to take Peter in his mouth. There was nothing between them now, no condom, no taste of rubber or lube, just the salt taste of Peter’s skin, the bitter hint of pre-come on Neal’s tongue. Neal wanted to take his time, drive Peter crazy and make him beg for release, but he knew this wasn’t the time. He went straight to what he knew Peter liked best, and when Peter shook and came in his mouth Neal swallowed it and savored the moment if not the taste.

Neal sat up and leaned against the pillows next to Peter, curling into Peter’s side while his shaky breaths slowly steadied. Neal put one hand on Peter’s chest and felt the rhythm of those breaths. “Doing okay?”

“Better than okay.” Peter gave Neal a sleepy, sated smile. “That was—“ Peter sighed happily.

“Mmmhmm.” Neal leaned his head against Peter’s and closed his eyes. He would have to get cleaned up and dressed eventually, but he wasn’t in any hurry, none at all.

~~~

Peter froze when he heard the lock turn in the door behind him, but there wasn't enough time for him to keep Neal from finding him out. As the door opened, Peter let the corner of the sofa drop to the floor then stood up as smoothly as he could, but it wasn't enough to keep Neal from looking at him with a startled kind of concern.

Neal looked from Peter to the sofa, which was several feet away from where it had been that morning, then back again. "What are you doing?"

"What are _you_ doing?" Peter heard the defensiveness in his voice, but he couldn't help himself. "Aren't you supposed to be working in your studio?"

"I am, but I wasn't getting anywhere so I thought I'd come home and have lunch with you."

"You could've warned me."

Neal looked startled again. "Warned you? I didn't think that you would need or want a warning, but I also didn't think that you'd be trying to move furniture around when you're still recovering."

"I wasn't _trying_ to move furniture; I was moving it just fine. I know you think I'm decrepit but I'm still kicking."

Neal stared at Peter for a moment then shook his head. "I don't think you're decrepit, I just don't want you to end up back in the hospital."

"I'm fine. I don't need you to tell me how to take care of myself. I got by just fine before."

"Fair enough," Neal said, his voice quieter than it had been. "I'll let you get back to it then." Neal turned and left, closing the door behind him, and the apartment was suddenly silent.

"Damn it." Peter kicked the sofa then sat down on it. He rubbed at his aching shoulder and stared up at the ceiling. Everything he had said was wrong, and he'd known the words were wrong even as they came out of his mouth but he just hadn't been able to stop them, like some kind of bitter vomit. "Damn damn damn damn."

He thought about chasing after Neal, but he knew he wasn't in any shape to catch up with an angry Neal, and wasn't that just the rotten cherry on top of his day? Peter sighed and took out his phone to call Neal instead.

"What?" Neal snapped when he answered. "You want me to come give you your key back?"

"No! Look, I'm sorry about the warning thing. I just can't take being mother-henned. Even my actual mother went home weeks ago."

Neal sighed into the phone. "I'm not trying to be your mother. I love you, and I don't want to lose you. That's all."

"I'm not that fragile."

"Maybe."

"Look, will you come back? I don't want to leave things this way between us."

"I--I'm on my way to my place at June's. I was staying with you because you needed help, but you don't need help now, and I think I need to stop intruding on your space."

"You're not intruding."

"That's not what it sounded like a little while ago. Let's just take a couple of days, then we'll talk."

Neal sounded calm and resolved, and Peter wanted to kick himself. "Okay. Call me if you need me?"

"Okay. Just please try not to put yourself back in the hospital."

Peter felt a renewed surge of irritation. "I'll do my best." He hung up then sat and rubbed at his chest. Moving the sofa around had been a bad idea, but he didn't need Neal to point that out. "Damn it damn it damn it damn it."

Peter spent the afternoon on the couch he'd been so determined to move, rotating ice and heat packs on his abused shoulder and chest. That night, when he got into bed alone for the first time in weeks he gave in to the urge to send Neal a text. _I love you._ He sat staring at his phone until it buzzed in his hand.

_I love you too. Goodnight._

It wasn't the same as having Neal there with him, but it was better than nothing. He hadn't managed to ruin everything, at least not yet.

~~~

For two days, Peter only communicated with Neal via the occasional text, and as much as he disliked the separation he appreciated that it was giving him the time to figure some things out for himself. Neal was right that he had moved in because Peter had needed help, and the fact of that chafed. Peter had thought about asking Neal to move in before that, but it seemed like something that should have been romantic, even if Peter was usually hopeless at pulling off a romantic gesture without looking like an idiot. He was willing to look like an idiot in the service of showing Neal how much he cared.

Peter understood that in any long-term relationship they were going to be lovers, roommates and friends, the balance changing moment to moment, but he hadn't imagined that they would start off living together with caretaking as the predominant dynamic. It felt like they'd been cheated of the honeymoon phase they should have enjoyed, and Peter could see now that he'd been unconsciously blaming Neal for that, a well of resentment that he hadn't noticed until it had exploded all over both of them. That wasn't fair--none of it was fair.

48 hours after he'd last seen Neal, Peter took a deep breath and called his cell. After a couple of rings Peter was expecting it to roll to voicemail, but then Neal answered.

"Hi," he said, and Peter tried to discern what he might be feeling from that one syllable, but it wasn't enough.

"Hi. I'm calling to ask you to come over for dinner tonight. I have a pot roast in the oven, and I'll make a salad and, well, bread I guess." Peter held his breath while he waited for Neal's response.

"That sounds great, actually. Around 6:30?"

"Sure, of course. I'll see you then."

"See you then," Neal echoed, his voice soft, and Peter smiled as he ended the call.

A few hours later, Peter was setting the table when he heard Neal knock. He hurried over and opened the door to find Neal standing there looking exhausted with an over-stuffed messenger bag weighing him down. "Hey, come in. Let me take that." Peter took the bag from Neal's shoulder and set it down on the floor. "Are you okay?"

Neal raised one eyebrow. "Who's the mother-hen now?" Before Peter could choose what to say in response, Neal reached out and put his hand on Peter's arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I just had a frustrating afternoon."

"I don't want to keep you if you'd rather go home and rest."

"No, I want to be here." Neal stepped closer and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips touched tentatively at first, but then they opened to each other and it felt so good, so right that Peter didn't want it to end. When the oven timer beeped, signaling that the bread was done, he pulled away slowly.

While Peter sliced the roast and put the bread in a basket, he heard Neal finish setting the table. "The salads are in the refrigerator, if you want to grab them."

"Sure." Neal smiled at Peter as he came back into the small kitchen, and Peter felt almost overwhelmingly grateful to have this kind of domesticity again after the ugly scene two days ago.

When they were both settled at the table with their wine glasses full, Peter reached across to put his hand over Neal's. "I'm really sorry for the way I spoke to you the other day. I was taking my own bullshit out on you, and it wasn't fair."

Neal nodded. "Apology accepted. And I'm sorry too. You're an adult; you can decide what to do with your body."

"True, but you didn't want me to hurt myself. I would have done the same thing, in your place."

Neal nodded then took a bite of the pot roast. "This is really good. I'm starving, actually."

"Then eat."

Neal devoured the food on his plate as if he hadn't eaten all day, and Peter suspected that was the case. Neither one of them could really throw stones when it came to taking care of themselves. When Neal was down to picking at a fourth piece of bread, Peter asked the question that had been on his tongue since he'd answered the door. "So, what's going on at work?"

"It's the financials. You remember I thought there was something strange going on months ago? Our accountant said everything was fine and explained it all, so I thought it was okay. Then you got hurt, and I really wasn't paying attention to anything other than what had to be done day to day. Now, I'm looking at it again, and I believe that something's wrong but I don't have the experience to know for sure."

"Why don't you let me look it over for you?"

"Please. I should have taken you up on your offer to look at it before, but I didn't think it was necessary." Neal rubbed his hand across his face and then up over his head, thoroughly messing up his hair.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." Neal gave Peter a smile that was sleepy but still tense around the edges.

"You're welcome to sleep here if you want."

“That’s tempting, but I think it's too soon. On the other hand, I'm not trying to eat and run."

"Well, then come help me do the dishes."

Neal rolled his eyes, but he smiled as he stood and started gathering dishes. It wasn't much work for the two of them, with Neal washing while Peter dried the dishes and put them away, and in far too little time most of the dishes were clean with just the roasting pan soaking in the sink. Neal dried his hands on a dish towel and leaned against the edge of the counter.

"I hate to ask, but do you want to look at the financial stuff now?"

"Why don't you just give me a quick brief on the situation and then leave it with me? Give me a day or two to go over it here?"

"That works." Neal went over to pick up his bulging messenger bag and took it over to the table where he pulled out a binder, a thick file folder, and a stack of loose papers. He gave Peter the run-down of what he'd collected from the bank and the financial files left by Ellen along with what the accountant had given him. It was a big mess of donations and expenses, but Peter thought that he could unravel it given enough time. He certainly had little else worthwhile to do with his brain while he was focused on trying to get back to work.

"Okay, I think I get the picture."

"I'm glad somebody does." Neal yawned widely then. "Sorry about that."

"Let me drive you home."

"I'm fine with getting home on my own."

"I know. Just, I have little enough useful to do these days, and it'll be easier for me to concentrate on your financials if I know you're safe at June's."

Neal hesitated for a moment then nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

Peter grabbed his wallet and keys while Neal retrieved the nearly-empty messenger bag then they left. The drive to June's house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Evening traffic was light, and not much time had gone by when Peter parked in front of the mansion.

"I'll get back to you in a day or two with my findings, okay?"

"Take your time." Neal unbuckled his seatbelt then leaned over and gave Peter a light kiss. "Drive home safe, okay?"

"Okay." Peter watched Neal enter the house then drove home with a stop for coffee along the way.

At home, Peter dug up a couple of his old accounting textbooks to refresh his memory then started going through Neal's paperwork, separating it into more manageable stacks. There was a strange kind of excitement in using this part of his brain again. Back in college, Forensic Accounting had been one of his favorite classes, and for a while he had daydreamed about going to grad school and trying to get into the FBI. Neither of those things had been in the cards, but Peter occasionally got to use his skills to crack the financial side of cases that hit his desk at the PD.

It didn't take long for Peter to see why Neal was concerned, and it didn't take much longer to see that something was definitely not right. Peter went to bed in the early morning when the numbers stopped making sense in his head, and then he had to walk away from the project to go to a physical therapy appointment in the afternoon, but he kept turning the problem around in his mind. By mid-morning of the second day he had a clear picture of what had happened--what was continuing to happen--and he knew he had to go give Neal the bad news.

If he was keeping to his usual schedule, Neal would be working in his studio, and Peter was loath to interrupt him, but time was of the essence. He packed Neal's papers and his own notes into a box and headed to Ellen's Place.

~~~

Neal heard a knock on his studio door and paused with his paintbrush still in hand. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Peter said, and that was unusual. He always made a point of protecting Neal’s creative time, and Neal’s irritation warred with worry so he put down the paintbrush and opened the door.

“Are you okay?” Peter looked stressed but not the way he would if something truly awful had happened. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I’ve found some things in the financials, and you need to know this sooner than later.” Peter sighed. “Can we talk in your office?”

“Of course. Just give me a minute?”

Peter nodded, and Neal closed the door then cleaned off his hands and put his shirt back on. He couldn’t help the twinge of resentment at having to leave his current work in progress—not resentment of Peter but resentment of the administrivia that was sucking up so much of his time. He been worried about the nonprofit's financial state for months now, but Peter’s injury and recovery had distracted him, and the reality was that there was nobody else around to take over those duties from Neal.

 _There’s Peter,_ Neal reminded himself, and some of that resentment turned into gratitude. Neal joined Peter in the hall, and they didn’t talk as they walked down the stairs and through the hallways together. Neal put up the “busy” sign on his office door and locked it while Peter sat down on the couch and pulled a stack of printouts and a yellow notepad out of his bag.

“Do you want the short version first or the whole story?”

Neal didn’t like the sound of that. “Whatever happened to the good news versus the bad news?”

“The only good news I can think of here is that we know now, and we can stop it from getting any worse.”

“So much for ignorance being bliss?”

Peter gave him a small smile and tilted his head at the empty space next to him on the couch. “Come on, sit down.”

Neal sat down, holding himself upright against the pull of the old couch. “Let’s start with the short version.”

“Okay. The short version is that your accountant has been stealing from you.” Peter spoke the words evenly, deliberately, somehow gentle and relentless at the same time. “She’s stolen a considerable amount of money from Ellen’s Place, and even if we put a stop to it today I’m very concerned about where your operating budget will come from beyond the next couple of months.”

Neal tasted bitter adrenaline on the back of his tongue. “Rachel wouldn’t do that.”

“Neal, the majority of the cash is gone, and there’s no good explanation.”

“Maybe she made a mistake?”

“I sincerely doubt that. This isn’t an accounting mistake or anything done through inaction or inattentiveness. This is a large sum of money spent on bogus invoices. I haven’t finished going through everything so I don’t have a total, and I don’t have all of the evidence in line to make it 100% solid, but she did this.”

Neal shook his head as his stomach churned. He had chosen Rachel to be the accountant for Ellen’s Place. He had trusted her, and now he had betrayed Ellen’s legacy and betrayed all of the kids and families he was trying to help. The touch of a hand on his face startled Neal out of his circling thoughts. “What?”

“This is not your fault. It’s not. But you need to have her access to the accounts removed, and you need to do it right now. I have a list of the calls you need to make, and you’re going to need to get a lawyer involved. And, I think, the FBI.”

“The FBI?” Neal swallowed hard, struggling to push back the anxiety that was making him feel breathless. He startled when Peter’s hand landed on his shoulder, but then Peter started rubbing slowly at the tensed up muscles, and Neal found that he could breathe and center himself. “This is nuts.”

“I know. If I could fix this all on my own, I would, but you’re the one with the legal power to get things out of her hands and start seeing what we can do.”

“But the FBI?”

“I’ll call Clinton Jones. You know he’s a good man, and he’s in the division that deals with white collar crimes.”

“Okay.” Neal took a deep breath then took the notepad from Peter and started making the necessary phone calls. Peter stayed by him the whole time, keeping a hand on his shoulder or his knee and helping him answer the questions that came up along the way. Neal didn’t like feeling uninformed, but the basic economics class he’d taken back in college had been years ago, and everything else had been learned along the way.

When all of the calls to remove Rachel’s access to the accounts were complete, Neal leaned back into the couch, his shoulder against Peter’s, and drank a bottle of water to soothe his nerves as much as his throat. “What about—do I call Rachel?”

“I don’t think you should. She’ll figure out what’s happened and probably contact you, but it might be better if you’ve talked to a lawyer and law enforcement first.”

“Okay. I wouldn’t even know what to say.” Neal knew he should be angry, and he was, but more than that he felt sad and betrayed, and the only way he could avoid giving in to panic over how and if he could keep Ellen’s Place open was to focus on the present.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Is there any way you can leave early? I can take you home or you can come back to my place.”

“That would be wonderful.” Neal closed his eyes and imagined climbing into Peter’s bed and pretending that the last hour or two hadn’t actually happened. “I can’t, though. I promised to work with some of the kids, and I’m not going to let what Rachel did take away from what I can give them right now. Especially if right now might not last very long.” Neal stood up and Peter stood as well then pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry I had to tell you this.”

“Don’t be. This is just one more reason that I’m grateful to have you in my life.” Neal couldn’t help imagining a world in which he’d lost Peter and then lost Ellen’s Place, but he couldn’t quite imagine surviving those two losses with anything other than tatters of himself intact. “Thank you.”

Peter just held him tighter then pressed a kiss to his cheek and left. Neal took ten minutes to pull himself together behind the closed door of his office then removed the busy sign and opened his door to find a despondent kid sitting on the floor in the hallway waiting for him. Neal had spent the day being an artist and an administrator and a boyfriend, but this was the work that made him feel like he was doing the right thing with his life. Neal gave the boy a hand up, and now Neal was the person with the calm support and the logical solutions. In the context of an awful day, it felt really good.

~~~

Over the next few days, Neal had to make a point of finding the good moments and holding onto them. He spent endless hours in meetings with the lawyer who did pro bono work for Ellen’s Place as well as a representative from the bank and with Clinton Jones and a couple of other agents from the FBI. Peter was there as much as he could be, but he was working hard to get certified to go back to work part time, so when he wasn’t needed for presenting or explaining the evidence he’d found Peter was often taking care of his own issues.

Watching Peter deal with the FBI and the lawyer and the official forensic accountant brought in by the FBI, Neal couldn’t help feeling terribly proud of his lover. In the whole group, Peter—the NYPD detective—was clearly the smartest man in the room, and that was sexy as hell. Neal hated everything about the situation other than the fact that it was giving Peter a moment to shine.

Within a week, Rachel was missing and now wanted by the FBI, the accounts had all been gone over multiple times until every penny was accounted for, and Neal thought that he had surely learned enough to count for a semester of coursework toward the accounting degree he never, ever wanted. The financial bleeding had been stopped and the wound sewn up, but the damage was done and as far as Neal could tell Ellen’s Place was in critical condition. He had no idea how they would be able to survive beyond the next two months, and the prospect of having to tell the kids and the parents and the other volunteers that the doors would soon shut and the building would go dark was a nightmare.

Neal had a headache when he left the FBI building, and he briefly considered going home to sleep it off but then he thought about the plans he had to meet with some of the teens that afternoon and the pile of work sitting on his desk. Neal popped a couple of over the counter painkillers on his way back to Ellen’s Place and tried to relax enough to let the headache go, but by the time he got to the building his vision was going haywire and the pain in his head felt like somebody was trying to pry the left and right halves away from each other.

Neal groped for the front door but ran into something that said, “Whoa, hey man!” Not something, somebody. Neal squinted his eyes but couldn’t make out a face and just trying made the pain in his head worse. He put his hands up to try to hold his skull together as he stumbled to lean against the wall, and he felt a hand on his arm.

“Hey, hey, Neal, right? What’s wrong with you? Please tell me you don’t have anything communicable.”

Too many words. “Headache—I—damn.”

“You look like you need a doctor, man.”

“No—no—home.” All Neal could think about was Peter. Peter would make things okay.

“If you say so. Look, I just dropped the kids off. Let me take you in my van?”

“Wait—who?” Peter would never forgive him if he got in a van with some serial killer.

“Mozzie. Remember? You tried to run me off then changed your mind?”

Neal forced one of his eyes open and tilted his head until he got the impression of a short man, bald with glasses. Right, Mozzie. Not a serial killer. “I—thanks. Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Mozzie kept a hand on his arm and after a long moment of walking Neal found himself on a bench seat in the back of a van. He folded over to sit with his head in his hands and gave Mozzie the address in Queens then focused on breathing. He just had to make his way to Peter without getting sick or passing out or crying loudly enough for this near-stranger to hear him.

The van stopped, and Neal looked up when he heard the door next to him open, only to groan when light sliced through his brain. Neal covered his eyes again and pushed his hands against his forehead. _Keep it together, keep it together._

“Hey, uh, you want me to help you inside? What apartment are you in?”

Neal shook his head without looking up. “M’okay.” With his eyes open just enough to see a blurry patch of ground in front of him, Neal climbed out of the van and made his way into the building’s lobby and then into a waiting elevator where he leaned against a corner and waited for movement. He heard a bump as the elevator doors nearly closed then opened again then opened his eyes enough to understand that Mozzie had followed him inside. “What?”

The fuzzy shape in front of Neal moved its arms around. “You could collapse and die in here, and then that would be my fault. No thank you.”

Neal didn’t know what to say so he just closed his eyes again as the elevator started rising. He steadied himself with one palm flat against the wall, and when he heard the elevator doors open he pushed off and aimed himself down the hall toward Peter’s door. He felt in his pocket as he walked, trying to remember what his key to Peter’s apartment felt like, but he really hoped that Peter would be home. Neal had the idea that Mozzie was following a few feet behind him, but turning around to look was too complicated.

Finally, he reached Peter’s door and leaned his head against it for a moment before knocking. _Please be home. Please be home._ Neal jerked away from the door when he heard the deadbolt click open, and for a moment he felt like he was untethered in space but then Peter’s hand was on his arm, Peter’s arms were around him, Peter’s voice low and calming in his ear. Neal thought about the man who’d given him a ride and tried to turn back to the door.

“There’s a—a Mozzie.”

Peter didn’t let Neal go back to the door. “I don’t know what that is, and I don’t know why you didn’t call me, but it doesn’t matter.” Neal knew they’d made it to Peter’s bedroom from the blacker quality of the darkness behind his eyelids, and he sighed in relief.

“Please,” Neal breathed, not sure what he was asking for.

“Shhh, I’m going to get you comfortable.” Gently but quickly, Peter took off Neal’s jacket, shirt, tie and suit pants and helped him into the bed. Neal curled himself into a ball under the covers and felt Peter’s hand brushing back and forth over the blankets that covered his arm. “Sweetheart, can you tell me if you want pills or a shot?”

Neal remembered that he’d brought over some of both kind of his medication when he’d moved in temporarily, and he hadn’t taken them with him when he went back to sleeping at June’s house. The fact that he could put that thought together told him that, no matter how good the oblivion of the shot sounded right then, he didn’t need the hard drugs. “Pills,” he murmured.

A moment later, Neal felt the touch of something dry against his lips, and he opened his mouth to take the pills and let them sit under his tongue. Neal lay there in the darkness, focusing on the rhythmic comfort of Peter’s hand stroking his hair, Peter’s fingers touching him with the gentlest of pressure, stroking from his forehead and his temple back along the side of his head. The pills dissolved, and Neal fell asleep imagining that Peter was sweeping the pain right out of his head, sweeping it into a pile that he could throw out the window. Neal’s pain would be taken by the wind, taken by the city, taken away.

~~~

Peter perched on the edge of his bedside table and watched Neal's face relax as his headache eased enough to let him fall asleep. He pet his hand over Neal's hair until the texture under his fingers turned from raw silk to satin, and he reluctantly stopped only when he heard movement nearby and looked up to see El standing in the bedroom doorway. She had come over to keep Peter company during her afternoon off, and Peter had all but forgotten her in the urgency of taking care of Neal. She looked at Neal with a concerned frown then silently beckoned Peter out into the main room of the apartment.

Peter touched his fingers lightly to Neal's forehead then stood and followed El, shutting the bedroom door as he left. In the main room of his apartment, Peter discovered that El wasn't alone; a bald man was hovering nervously near the door, and Peter instantly felt on guard.

"El, who is this?"

"This is Mozzie. I found him in the hallway."

"I gave Neal a ride. It wasn't a big deal, and really I should go back--"

"Back where?" Peter forced himself to gentle his tone. This guy was a squirrelly stranger, but he had helped Neal get safely to Peter's door. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to interrogate you."

"Ellen's Place. He didn't look too hot, you know, so I offered him a ride home. That's all."

"Thank you. Seriously."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just going to--" Mozzie pointed his thumb at the door then opened it and started to leave. Halfway through, he paused and turned to look at El. "Pleased to meet you." He made a tiny bow in her direction then quickly left, shutting the door behind him.

"Well that was interesting!" El smiled and went to get her purse. "I'll leave you alone. Is there anything you two need?"

"I think we're okay." Peter gave El a hug and noticed how much her hair felt like Neal's. "It was good to see you. I take it you're spending a lot of time at Clinton's apartment these days?"

"Well, it has a great view."

"I thought he lived in a basement apartment?"

"Oh, he does." El winked and left Peter shaking his head behind her.

Alone now, Peter crept back into the bedroom to check on Neal then took his own restless thoughts back out where he wouldn't disturb Neal's slumber. Peter hated seeing Neal in pain, and the only thing that tempered his worry was the fact that Neal's headaches weren't nearly as bad as they had been--or nearly as frequent. It wasn't much of a surprise that dealing with the financial crisis at Ellen's Place had driven Neal to this point, when Neal was dealing with it from all angles--the attorney, the feds, the board, the volunteers and then the kids who didn't know that the place and the programs they loved might be gone soon.

Peter had thought that if he just got to the point where he was ready to go back to work he would stop feeling so useless and conflicted, but now he had his official release to return to working light duty and nothing was better. He had become a detective to do work that was meaningful, work that would help people, but he didn't feel like he was managing to do that very often anymore. Neal was doing work that helped people, both now and hopefully into the future as the kids grew up, and the law couldn't even help him keep that going when he'd been robbed by a woman he was supposed to trust. The FBI could do their best to track down the woman who had stolen the nonprofit's funds but the likelihood that they'd get the money back was very low. The chances that they'd get it back in time to keep Ellen's Place from going under were so slim as to be nearly nonexistent.

The whole situation was wrong, and the fact that Peter couldn't do anything to remedy it made him feel sick. He wished that he could put more of his own efforts into working at Ellen's Place, but reality was that he needed the salary and the insurance he got from the NYPD. Sometimes, Peter really hated reality.

After a few hours, Peter heard movement from the bedroom so he put down his book and went to the bedroom to find Neal sitting up in bed looking disheveled and groggy and sweet. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Better." Neal smiled, and Peter could see that his forehead looked tight but the lines of pain in his face were mostly gone. "Thanks for putting me to bed."

"I would say it's my pleasure, but there's no pleasure in seeing you in pain. Anyway, I'm glad you came here."

Neal looked thoughtful. "You know, I never even thought about going back to June's. It's much closer but I just--he said he would take me home, and I gave him your address."

Peter felt a swell of joy inside of him, and the bit of hurt that he'd carried since Neal had gone back to staying in his apartment at June's disappeared. "I'm glad." Neal smiled and ran a hand through his hair, and Peter realized how much he missed waking up to that smile and that messy hair every morning. "You know, I wish I had been able to do this the right way a couple of months ago, that I hadn't been hurt and drugged up and too much of a burden to have much of a choice in the matter--"

"You weren't--" Neal shook his head.

Peter put his fingers lightly on Neal's lips. "I wish I had been able to take you out to dinner and give you a key in a box or something, and I know this isn't the most romantic moment either, but--" Peter let his hand drop back down to his lap. "Will you move in with me? Live with me again?"

Neal looked down then reached out for Peter's hand. "I've been wanting to come back almost since I left. I just didn't want to assume, and I didn't want you to feel obligated."

"Obligated is the last thing I feel. So, is that a yes?"

"Definitely a yes." Neal leaning in closer, and they shared a soft, lingering kiss.

~~~

Over the course of the next week, Neal borrowed one of June's cars to make a few trips between her house and Peter's apartment. There was nothing he couldn't handle himself, just books and decorations, clothing and toiletries, and the handful of kitchen tools that he'd accumulated since moving into June's house. When June had offered him the space, Neal had moved in with little more than his clothes and books, and he'd been overwhelmed with gratitude that he didn't have to figure out how to afford to find and furnish an apartment in the aftermath of being dumped by Vincent.

June had given him more than a safe and beautiful place to live; she'd given him her kindness and her friendship, and she'd been there for him when he came home from the hospital, weak and barely functioning. She'd cared for him in a way his mother never had, and Neal wasn't sure where he'd be without her.

When Neal arrived to pick up his last couple of boxes, June asked him to join her for tea in her sitting room. She was silent until the housekeeper left them alone then looked at Neal sharply as she stirred a few grains of sugar into her cup. "You know you can come back any time, don't know?"

Neal blinked. "I can't ask you to keep the space empty on my account."

"You're not asking me, and in any case I'm certainly not looking to take in random boarders. I just don't want you to feel like you have to stay with Peter if it's not where you want to be."

"Thank you," Neal said softly. "And I won't. I wouldn't." Neal took a few sips of his tea then tried to change the subject. "No matter what happens with me and Peter, I hope you'll let me visit from time to time."

"As far as I'm concerned, it's your space. I know you like to paint on the terrace sometimes, and you're welcome to continue with that."

Neal sighed at the thought of painting. Every time he tried to work in his studio at Ellen's Place, he couldn't ended up distracted by worries about how long they were going to be able to keep the place going. Sara was working on a fundraiser, a gallery show with silent auctions on works by some of the kids as well as the artists who worked in the center's other studios, but Neal didn't see any way they could bring in enough money to make up for what Rachel had stolen from them.

Neal would stand in front of a canvas, trying to get into the right mental state, but he couldn't find that place with anger and worry and fear and guilt blocking the way. It was easier to put away his materials and go back down to his office to stare at spreadsheets. On better days he managed to spend the time working with some of the kids, but even that just reminded him of what would be missing from his life and theirs when there wasn't any money left.

"Neal?" June's voice brought Neal back to the moment, and he realized he was endlessly stirring his spoon around in his mug.

"I'm sorry. I'm not doing all that well at creating anything right now."

June nodded, looking thoughtful. "Why don't you try using your room here as a studio? Maybe some distance and a change of venue would help?"

Neal opened his mouth to decline the offer, but he needed both the creative outlet and the income enough that June's idea was worth trying. "Maybe it would."

After spending some more time with June, Neal took his boxes of books out to Queens then drove back to Ellen's Place and packed up some of his materials and other supplies. He felt like a thief, slinking out of there like he was giving up on Ellen's Place before it was even closed, but he reminded himself that his creative dry spell wasn't helping anybody. He set everything in a corner of the apartment at June's house and promised himself that he'd come back the next day to work.

With June's car back where it belonged, Neal went home to find Peter unloading books onto a new bookshelf that hadn't been there before. Peter turned around as Neal walked in, and he put down the books in his hand with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry, I needed to be doing something, and I thought--"

"Hey, it's okay. They're just books." The boxes had been labeled, and Neal's two boxes of personal papers and whatnot were right where he'd left them taped up in a corner. "I like the new bookshelves."

"I didn't want your things to have to stay in boxes, and at least here I can feel like I'm accomplishing something." Peter sighed then visibly shrugged off his frustration. "Anyway, welcome home."

Neal smiled; he liked the sound of that. "This was the last of it. Everything's moved now."

"Good." Peter reached out, and his hand was warm as it cupped the back of Neal's head. Neal swayed in closer and smelled the faint woodsy spice of Peter's cologne as their lips met. Neal took a step back and leaned against the corner made by the wall and the side of a bookcase. As his lips moved against Peter's, their tongues slipping against each other, he lifted the hem of Peter's t-shirt and felt the warmth of his skin, the strength of his body. Peter hummed into Neal's mouth, and they pulled apart just long enough for Peter to pull his shirt the rest of the way off.

Neal gently kissed the still-healing scars on Peter's chest then the mole in the hollow of his neck. Peter laughed quietly, and Neal felt the motion of Peter's throat against his lips. "You like that thing too much."

"No such thing," Neal said. He put his hand on Peter's waist then slipped his fingers down past the waist of his jeans. "I want to be inside you."

Peter leaned in for another kiss before answering. "Mmm, I like the sound of that."

More often than not, they made love with their hands and mouths or just the friction of skin against skin as their bodies rocked against each other in bed. Neal hadn't been inside Peter since they'd stopped using condoms, and suddenly it was what he needed, all he wanted. They undressed as they made their way to the bedroom, and Neal retrieved the tub of thick lube they liked best for anal sex.

Peter pulled the covers down and stretched out on the bed, his body naked and relaxed. "How do you want me?"

"Just get comfortable for now. Bend your knees?"

Peter bent his knees and shifted his hips as Neal sat down and dipped his fingers into the thick lube. He touched his fingers to the tender skin between Peter's legs, and as the lube warmed between them he slipped a finger inside. The ring of muscle began to relax, and Neal pushed a second finger inside.

Peter rolled his hips up to meet Neal's shallow strokes. "You don't have to go so slowly, you know?"

"I want to. I want it to last. I want to watch you."

Peter looked self-conscious at that, but then Neal stroked his thumb over the sensitive skin below Peter's balls and self-consciousness was forgotten as Peter closed his eyes. Peter's cock rose, half-hard now, and Neal stroked himself with his free hand as he continued to work his fingers inside of Peter. Neal felt like he could stay there for hours, touching Peter and watching the effects of pleasure play out on his body--skin flushed and beading with sweat, the rise and fall of his chest from quickening breaths, his cock rising, his eyes closed as he focused on the sensations.

"Neal," Peter said, and the word was begging and demanding, pure need in one drawn-out syllable.

Neal withdrew his fingers from Peter's ass and fisted his cock to cover it with a layer of lube then climbed up next to Peter and nudged him over onto his side. Peter stretched out one leg and bent the other up to give Neal better access, and Neal held onto Peter's shoulder as he found the right angle to push inside. It felt so good to be there, and Neal thought of Peter's words earlier. _Welcome home._ Neal stayed in place for a moment, breathing against the back of Peter's neck before reaching around to take Peter's cock in hand and starting a slow, thrusting rhythm.

Curled together on their sides didn't allow for the deepest penetration or the hardest fuck, but Neal liked the closeness, the full contact of their bodies curled together, the slow pace that drew out the pleasure, making it last like a piece of very dark chocolate dissolved slowly in the mouth. Neal listened to the small sounds of their bodies moving against each other, their breathing, the shifting of the mattress beneath them. He tasted Peter's sweat on his lips, and as he felt himself trembling on the edge, just about ready to come, he worked Peter's cock just the right way--the way that made Peter gasp and shudder and come apart right along with Neal.

Spent, Neal let his cock slip out from inside Peter but he kept his body folded around Peter's. The bed was a mess, they were a mess, but Neal didn't care. He tugged a sheet up over their cooling bodies and rested his head against the back of Peter's shoulder. There was nowhere he needed to go; he was home.

~~~

Neal was in his office filling out yet another grant application when his phone rang. He reached for his iPhone before realizing that it was the old flip phone they used for the Ellen's Place emergency line. Neal had given the number to a handful of trusted contacts in law enforcement and children's services, and he and Sara took turns being on-call. Neal was almost happy for the distraction from grim paperwork as he answered the call. "Ellen's Place."  
  
"Mr. Caffrey?" The voice was male, middle-aged, refined and completely unfamiliar.  
  
"Speaking. Who is this?"  
  
"Mr. Caffrey, my name is Stuart Gless. I--" The man paused, and Neal heard him take an unsteady breath. "I'm looking for my daughter, and I'm hoping you can help me."  
  
Neal sat up straighter, unsure what kind of situation he might be getting into. "You should be speaking with the police, Mr. Gless."  
  
"I have. I've filed a report, and I've spoken to them a number of times in the last few days but as far as they're concerned she's just another runaway."  
  
"How old is your daughter."  
  
"She's--Lindsey--Lindsey's seventeen. I've talked to her friends, and I even hired a private investigator. She's not off living it up somewhere, as the police seem to think. I'm certain she's in danger, and I need help finding her. I was told that you work with these kids, these runaways."  
  
"I do, but I'm afraid you have the wrong idea about what we do here at Ellen's Place. We run art programs and host a drop-in center for teens, but if you send me a picture of your daughter I can keep an eye out for her." _And if I see her, I'll talk to her before I say a word to you,_ Neal thought.  
  
"I understand the work that you do, Mr. Caffrey, but I've tried traditional avenues, and my daughter is still missing. Will you at least take a meeting with me? I can make it worth your while, any donation you want."  
  
No matter their financial straits, Neal wasn't about to take a fee for a service they didn't offer. "I'll meet with you, but I need to make a call first. Give me your number, and I'll call you right back,"  
  
Mr. Gless gave Neal his number then repeated it. "I'll be waiting for your call."  
  
"I understand. I'll speak to you again in a few minutes." Neal hung up then took a deep breath before calling Peter.  
  
"What's wrong?" Peter answered, sounding harried.  
  
"I'm okay, sorry. I need to run something by you, and I would have texted you but it's urgent."  
  
"Okay. Okay, shoot."  
  
"I got a call from a man named Stuart Gless who says that he's reported his seventeen year-old daughter missing. Is there any chance you can confirm that for me?"  
  
"Yeah, hold on." Neal heard a shuffling of papers and then typing. "Right, he reported her missing three days ago but there's no evidence of foul play, and she's seventeen so--"  
  
"I get it. Is there anything else?"  
  
"Nothing significant. What's going on?"  
  
"Gless is looking for help finding his daughter, and I don't know. That's not what I do, but he asked for a meeting, and I don't feel good about turning him down."  
  
Neal heard some more typing before Peter responded. "He doesn't have any kind of record beyond parking tickets but--" Peter sighed then continued more quietly. "Take care of yourself. You don't owe this guy anything."  
  
"I will. And I know, but his daughter's out there. I'll just talk to him, see what it looks like."  
  
"Okay. Call me if you need me."  
  
"Love you."  
  
"Love you."  
  
Neal hung up then closed his eyes for a moment before calling Mr. Gless.  
  
"Mr. Caffrey?"  
  
"I'll meet with you. Do you know where we're located?"  
  
Neal was answered with a relieved sigh. "Yes. Thank you. I assume my story checked out?"  
  
"It did. Mr. Gless, I'm not sure how much I can help you, but I'll be waiting for you."  
  
"Thank you. I'm on my way now."  
  
Neal hung up the phone and wrapped up the work he'd been doing before the phone rang, then left his office to wait for his visitor near the front doors. When he saw a well-dressed middle-aged man step out of a town car, Neal knew that had to be Mr. Gless. Neal took a deep breath then opened the door to welcome him in.  
  
"Mr. Caffrey?" Gless held his hand out for a confident, business-like handshake, but Neal could see the worry in the man's face and the way he looked around himself, out of his element.  
  
"Let's go back to my office."   
  
It was strange to see a man like Stuart Gless sitting on his battered, slip-covered couch in place of one of the kids or an adult artist or volunteer. Neal shifted in his seat for a moment, feeling like he should be the one on the couch with Gless sitting behind the desk like a principal, but he reminded himself that his own name was on the door then straightened his spine. "Before we go any further, I need to know why your daughter left home." If Neal got the impression that Gless was lying to him, he planned to end the meeting immediately.  
  
Gless looked away and sighed. "Since Lindsey was a little girl, it's just been the two of us. I can't say I've been a perfect father. I work too much, but she's the most important part of my life, and I thought she always knew that. Last month, she brought home a boy she'd met God knows where, and he wasn't the kind of young man I want anywhere near my daughter."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"He's a hoodlum. I don't mean that I want her only to date boys whose families meet some kind of income requirement, but I could tell this kid was no good. We argued, and I lost my temper, told her I should have sent her to boarding school." He shook his head. "Years ago, I dated a woman who suggested, in Lindsey's presence, that I send her away to school, and that was the end of my relationship with the woman. I shouldn't have threatened Lindsey with that, but when she ran off to her room I thought that I'd give us both time to cool down before trying to have a rational discussion."  
  
"What happened then?"  
  
"I took a business call. There's a company we had been considering acquiring, but new information came in that made it clear that would be a bad move. Lindsey must have come downstairs in the middle of the conversation and overheard some of it, but she completely misunderstood and thought I was talking about her. When I went up to her room later she was gone, with this note left behind." He pulled a piece of folded notebook paper from his inside breast pocket. "'You don't have to cut the thread, Daddy. I'll do it for you.' I never--" Mr. Gless broke off, his voice tight. "Knowing that she's out there somewhere thinking that I don't love her, it's killing me."  
  
"I'm sorry," Neal said quietly. "What happens if I find her, and she doesn't want to come home?"  
  
"I just need to talk to her, and I can't believe she wouldn't come home once she understood. But, well, the most important thing is that she's safe. If she truly doesn't want to live at home, I'll deal with that as long as I know where she is. She's my little girl, Mr. Caffrey."  
  
"Okay." Neal nodded. "I'm going to do my best to help you find her."  
  
Over the next half hour, Neal got as many details as he could about Lindsey's boyfriend as well as a few pictures of Lindsey herself. He saw Mr. Gless back to his town car then walked back inside, looking at the pictures of a smiling, sweet-faced girl. Neal's philosophy in working with teens was that he wanted to be the person who would be on their side, as much as possible. He couldn't help them if they thought he was some kind of skip-tracer who'd take them back to their parents kicking and screaming. On the other hand, this girl who'd grown up with money and a loving father was likely to be in danger on the streets. Most of the kids Neal worked with didn't have anything like that to go home to; most of them could barely imagine it.  
  
It was late enough in the day that there was likely to be some of the regular group of teens hanging around upstairs, so Neal went up to see if one of them might be able to point him in the right direction. When he got up to the common room, he found Emily, LaShonda and Mai working at the table and Joey sitting on the couch fiddling with his phone.  
  
"Hey guys," Neal greeted them then went over and took a seat at the table. He sighed, pulling out Lindsey's picture. "I'm trying to help find a girl who's missing, and I'm wondering if any of you might have seen her."  
  
Jasmine sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why'd she leave?"  
  
"She had an argument with her father, and she overheard something that made her think he didn't want her around." Neal met Jasmine's eyes. "I believe him, but if I find her it'll be up to her if she goes home or not."  
  
"You don't think he hurts her?"  
  
"No, I don't. I think she has a nice home she should probably go back to, and I think she might be with a boy who's putting her in danger."  
  
Jasmine relaxed enough to reach out and take the picture. "No, haven't seen her. Sorry."  
  
"It's okay. Anybody else?"  
  
Nobody recognized Lindsey but Neal kept trying as more kids arrived, and finally he got a lead. Somebody had seen her in a building that a bunch of kids were using as a squat, and Neal was tempted to call the police and let them take care of it, but he knew all too well that if the cops descended on the building everyone would run, and it would be just that much harder to find Lindsey. He also couldn't put aside his distrust of the police enough to trust that none of the kids would hurt or arrested just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.   
  
A quieter, more personal approach was necessary. Mr. Gless wouldn't be able to walk in there and find her, but Neal thought that maybe he could. On his way back to his office, Neal called Peter.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet. Are you at home?"  
  
"Just got here. What do you want for dinner?"  
  
"I'm--I'm not hungry. I'm going to be kind of late."  
  
"Please tell me what's going on. Does this have to do with Gless?"  
  
"I--yes." Neal wasn't sure what he should say. He wanted to tell Peter everything, but he knew that Peter wouldn't approve of Neal heading out to find her himself. Neal wasn't sure that he approved of it himself; he wasn't a kid with no better options and nobody who cared about him, not anymore. "I think I know where she is but if the police head there we're going to lose her."  
  
"Damn. Tell me you're not planning on heading into some crackhouse yourself."  
  
Neal didn't answer for a moment. "I don't think it's a crackhouse."  
  
"Neal."  
  
"She's seventeen. If something happens to her, and I could've helped her--I don't know."  
  
"Let me help," Peter said steadily.  
  
"But--"  
  
"Not the police, just me. Tell me what to wear and where to meet you."  
  
Neal leaned his head on his hand and thought about it. It would be good not to be alone, and he trusted Peter more than anybody else. "Okay. Okay. Wear dark casual clothes and meet me here. Half an hour?"  
  
"I'll be there."  
  
Now that it was no longer a one-man operation, Neal worried that even if he found Lindsey and earned her trust that she might be reasonably nervous about taking off with two men. He wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, but he went down the hall looking for Sara, and when he found her cleaning up in one of the classrooms he went in to talk to her.  
  
She looked up from the supplies she was organizing and raised one sculpted eyebrow. "What's going on?"  
  
"Why does something have to be going on?"  
  
"Because you look like a man with a mission."  
  
"Okay. I'm going to ask you a favor, but I'll understand if you say no. I've agreed to go looking for a teenage girl who's run away and is possibly in danger. I have a lead on where she might be, and Peter is going with me just in case, but we'll need a ride home."  
  
"You want me to be your wheel man?"  
  
"Our wheel woman, maybe. I'm worried she might be scared to get into a car alone with two men."  
  
Sara nodded thoughtfully. "What's the situation?"  
  
"She's seventeen, and she had an argument with her father. According to him, she overheard his side of a phone conversation, misunderstood, and took off. The police think she's off partying somewhere, but her father seems genuinely concerned."  
  
Sara closed her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose then exhaled slowly before looking at Neal again. "It's been more than fifteen years, and I still wish I could find my sister. If you think you can find this girl before she disappears for real, I'm in."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"No, thank you for asking me."  
  
Neal left Sara, then changed into some of the old clothes he kept around for painting in, found a jacket from their donation pile and waited for Peter. When Peter arrived, he handed Peter's car keys off to Sara, and they headed to the subway station. The time they spent waiting on the platform and on the train gave them enough time to agree on a vague plan for dealing with the situation. It was when they were on their way up the stairs from the subway station to the street that Neal noticed the bulge of a gun under Peter's jacket.   
  
At the top of the stairs, Neal grabbed Peter's arm and tugged him over toward a storefront that was closed up for the night. "What the hell?" Neal looked around then continued in a harsh whisper. "You're _armed_?I thought you were coming as Peter, not as Detective Burke."  
  
Peter looked surprised, then stubborn. "I don't want this to be a police matter, but I'm not going into a dangerous situation with no protection when I have a choice in the matter. I swear to you that I won't be using my gun or my badge unless something goes wrong."  
  
"Damn it." Neal wanted to tell Peter to just go home, but he knew Peter would just follow him anyway. "I don't want anyone to get hurt, and that includes you, me, and whatever kids are in that house."  
  
"I want the same thing. Okay? I gave you my word, and that should be good enough. You can't ask me to be somebody other than who I am."  
  
Neal took a step back and looked at Peter--the police detective and the man he loved. "You're right, and I do trust you. Okay, let's go. It's about five blocks east."  
  
They didn't talk as they walked down the street together, moving swiftly but not fast enough to draw attention. Peter seemed to ignore the various illegal things they passed, including a couple of obvious drug deals, and when they reached the house he thought Lindsey was squatting in Peter peeled off and walked toward the side of the house. Neal nodded at him then climbed the steps. As he entered the crumbling building, he kept his head down, moving more like the dispirited kid he'd been back when he'd found himself in places like this. In the light of day he couldn't pass for anything close to a teenager, but in the shadows he didn't think he'd stick out.  
  
He passed a room full of kids who looked like they were far, far away from reality, but none of them looked like the girl whose picture was in Neal's back pocket. After checking out the first floor, Neal carefully climbed the stairs to the second floor, but none of the sleeping or drugged-out kids he passed was Lindsey Gless. At the end of the hallway there was a narrow stairway leading up to the attic or third floor, and Neal took a deep breath to calm his nerves before starting up the dark passage. He pulled out the small flashlight from his pocket and shined it up the stairs just to make sure there wasn't some gaping hole he was going to fall through.  
  
Several steps up, just above Neal's eye-level, there was a huddled form, and the kid who looked up, blinking into the flashlight beam was Lindsey Gless. She shrieked and started to scramble backwards up the stairs, and Neal slowly set the flashlight down on the stairs where it could provide some light without blinding either of them. "Lindsey? Hey, I'm not going to hurt you."  
  
"How do you know my name?" She sounded panicked, but Neal couldn't blame her.  
  
"My name is Neal, and your father asked me to find you."  
  
"Yeah, right. Wait, are you a cop?"  
  
"No. I'm--well, I'm an artist but I also work with kids, and some of them used to live in places like this."  
  
"So why would my dad ask you to look for me when he doesn't--he doesn't even want me around?" Her voice broke, and Neal wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he didn't want to frighten her more.  
  
"He does want you around. Listen, I'm not working for your father. I'm here because he told me about you, and I know that this isn't a safe situation for you."  
  
"I can't go home!"  
  
"Do you want to stay here?"  
  
Lindsey sniffled, and when she answered Neal could hear the tears in her voice. "No. I don't know where else to go."  
  
"If you come with me, I'll make sure you're safe. Your father wants to see you, but if you still don't want to go home we'll work something else out."  
  
"I don't want to see him. He _hates_ me."  
  
Neal hoped that was just the misunderstanding and teenage over-reaction, but he had to be sure. "Are you afraid of him? Does he hurt you?"  
  
"N--what if he did?"  
  
"Then I would find you somewhere safe to live, and I would never tell him where you were. Never."  
  
She sniffled again. "No, he's not like that. But he doesn't want me."  
  
"I think you're wrong about that. Will you come with me?"  
  
"How do I know you're not worse than the people here?"  
  
Neal sighed and sat down on a step a few feet down from Lindsey. "Let me try something?" Neal took out his phone and dialed Stuart Gless.  
  
He answered in the middle of the first ring. "Mr. Caffrey?"  
  
"Yes, hold on." Neal held the phone out toward Lindsey. "Will you take the phone, please?"  
  
Lindsey tentatively reached out then took the phone and put it to her ear. "Hello?" There was a pause then, "Dad? Daddy? Dad? Okay, I'll go with him. Okay." She handed the phone back to Neal.  
  
At first, Neal heard nothing, and he thought that Mr. Gless had already hung up the phone until he heard unsteady breathing from the other end of the call. "Will you bring her home?" He sounded as tearful as his daughter.  
  
"Let's meet at my office. We should be there in a little while." Neal ended the call and sent Peter a quick text then looked up at Lindsey. "Are you ready to get out of here?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Neal retrieved his flashlight and held his hand out as he stood. Lindsey put her hand in his, and she stayed next to him as they made their way down to the front door. Neal was relieved that she didn't seem to be injured or intoxicated, though she looked exhausted. She probably hadn't really slept since she left home, and he hoped that the night ended with her clean and fed and sleeping in her own bedroom.  
  
When they cleared the front door, Peter came around from the side of the building where he'd been keeping watch. "Everything okay?"  
  
Lindsey froze. "Wait, who the hell is that?"  
  
"It's okay. This is Peter, my partner."  
  
"You said you're not a cop!"  
  
"No, no, I mean--" Neal didn't want to say 'lover' to a teenage girl. "--my boyfriend."  
  
"Oh! Cool."  
  
"If you two are ready to get out of here, Sara's going to pick us up by the bodega we passed back there."  
  
"Who's _that_?"  
  
"Just a friend, a woman I work with. I thought you might feel safer with a woman in the car."  
  
Lindsey shrugged. "Why didn't you send her in to look for me?"  
  
"She hasn't been in places like this. I have."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
Peter was looking impatient to get going, so Neal nudged Lindsey forward and they started making their way down the street. As promised, Sara was waiting behind the wheel of Peter's car in front of the little convenience store. The drive back to Ellen's Place went quickly, and before they could even get inside the locked building a familiar town car double-parked and Stuart Gless got out of the back. Neal was prepared to hold Gless off if Lindsey reacted badly but before Neal could even say anything father and daughter were in each other's arms.  
  
Neal turned away from the little reunion and saw Sara standing in the doorway with her hands over her face. He checked to see that Peter was still keeping an eye on the Glesses and went over to check on Sara. "Hey." He put a hand on her back and felt her shaking. "Are you okay?"  
  
She wiped at her eyes then dropped her hands and nodded. "I'm so happy for them. I just--I wish--"  
  
"I'm sorry." Neal gave her a hug then went over to talk to Peter. "Can you give Sara a ride home then come back? Do you mind?"  
  
"Of course not. You'll be inside?"  
  
"I will. Thank you. Now I need to interrupt the happy family."  
  
"You did a good thing here." Peter squeezed Neal's arm, and Neal leaned into the touch for a moment before turning away.  
  
Stuart Gless looked like he was getting ready to shepherd his daughter back to the car but Neal put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go inside."  
  
"I'm so grateful for your help Mr. Caffrey, but I want to get Lindsey home."  
  
"I understand, but you asked me to be involved in this and now I need to make sure everything's okay before you take Lindsey home."  
  
Gless looked like he was going to argue, and Neal knew there was nothing he could do if the man refused, but finally he nodded. "All right."  
  
Neal let them all into the building then saw the Glesses to one of the classrooms. "I'll be right back." Neal hurried to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water and some packages of cookies for Lindsey. When he got back to the classroom, Lindsey was sitting bent over one of the small round tables with her head resting on her arms, and Stuart was pacing the length of the room. Lindsey lifted her head when Neal sat down next to her, and she opened one of the little packs of cookies immediately.   
  
"Mr. Gless?" Neal nodded to the empty seat at the table, and to his relief the man stopped pacing and sat down.  
  
"I just want to take my little girl home. I assure you we have food there."  
  
"I'm sure you do. Listen, I know that I agreed to look for Lindsey at your request, but I was doing it for her, not for you. I ran away when I was her age, and if somebody had taken me home I would have run again as soon as I was able. I don't want that to happen with Lindsey."  
  
Stuart leveled an assessing gaze on Neal, and Neal sat calmly and let the man see what he wanted to see. After a moment, Gless sighed and turned to his daughter. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry that I threatened to send you away to school. I lost my temper and I didn't mean that at all. What you overheard, that was me talking about business. It had _nothing_ to do with you."  
  
Lindsey swallowed a bit of cookie and looked uncertain. "You said, 'She's dragging us down. It's time to cut the thread.'" She bit her lip and looked down.  
  
"I did, and the 'she' I was referring to was the female CEO of a company we were merging with." He left his chair to crouch in front of his daughter. "Lindsey, look at me please." When she looked up, he continued. "You are the person who keeps me afloat, and that thread will be cut when I die. Maybe not even then. I'm sorry that I ever made you doubt that."  
  
Father and daughter were crying in each other's arms again, and Neal felt his own eyes stinging and the pressure of tears at the back of his throat. He had never had that kind of connection with his parents, but then he thought of Peter--the way they helped each other up on bad days, the connection between them that Neal couldn't imagine ever breaking. An idea came to life in his brain, but he pushed it aside; this wasn't the time to dwell on his personal life.  
  
When Lindsey was sitting up in her chair, rubbing at her eyes, and Stuart was perched on his own chair, Neal turned to the teenage girl. "Lindsey, do you want to go home with your father?"   
  
She sniffled and nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry for scaring you, Daddy."  
  
Neal drew Lindsey's attention back to him. "I want you to promise me that if something else happens, and you decide that you want to leave home, that you'll come here or call or text me." Neal passed one of his cards to her. "I often help people your age find safe places to stay away from their parents, and it's important to me."  
  
Neal expected Mr. Gless to argue that his daughter wasn't one of those kids and that she would have no need for Neal's help, but instead he looked thoughtful as he nodded. Lindsey looked at the card then slipped it into her pocket. "I promise." She looked over at her father. "Can we go home now?"  
  
Neal stood up from the table. "I'll see you out to your car."  
  
When the Glesses were on their way home, Neal locked the door and walked down the empty halls of the building. With most of the lights off, it was too easy to imagine all of the rooms empty, the walls bare of art, the furniture and equipment sold to settle debts, the colorful sign torn down from the front of the building. Losing Ellen's Place would be like losing Ellen all over again, made worse by the thought of the kids who might not find the help they needed.  
  
Neal picked up a child-size chair and hurled it down the hallway. The clatters and thuds echoed off of the cinderblock walls, and then everything was silent again. Neal leaned against the wall and sighed heavily then forced himself to retrieve the chair. It had a slight crack, but it wasn't broken, and Neal hoped that was some kind of sign. His phone buzzed in his pocket, Peter letting him know he was parked outside, and Neal turned off the lights before leaving and locking the door behind him.   
  
He couldn't help imagining doing that for the final time, but he didn't know how he would avoid making that fear into a reality. He got into the passenger side of Peter's car and leaned his shoulder against Peter's for a moment before fastening his seat belt.  
  
"How did it go?"  
  
"I think they're going to be okay. How about Sara?"  
  
"She'll be okay, too. What about you?"  
  
"I--I have a lot to think about, but I'm glad to be going home with you. I know that for sure."  
  
Peter answered wordlessly, with a squeeze to Neal's thigh, and he left his hand there until he needed to park the car. They headed straight to bed, and Neal thought that his worries would keep him awake but the exhaustion of the day and the comfort of Peter's arms around him pulled him down into sleep.  
  
~~~  
  
Two days later, Neal was working with some of the younger kids in a first floor art room when he heard a firm knock on the frame of the open door and turned around to see Stuart Gless standing in the doorway.  
  
"Mr. Gless? Is Lindsey--"  
  
"She's fine. She's back at school today, actually, but I'd like to talk to you if you have some time."  
  
Stuart Gless was the kind of man who wasn't likely to be kept waiting often, but Neal wasn't willing to put the kids aside just so that he could be scolded for delaying the man from taking his daughter home the other night. "I can meet with you in my office in half an hour, if you don't mind waiting."  
  
The man seemed nonplussed for a moment, but then he nodded. "I'll wait. Thank you."  
  
Neal hesitated, then turned and went back to helping the kids with their watercolor paintings. Half an hour later, Neal washed his hands then went down the hall to his office where he found Stuart Gless standing outside with a zipped-up leather portfolio in hand. "I apologize for the delay," Neal said as he opened his office door.  
  
"I understand, you have quite a few programs going on here."  
  
"We do." Just that morning Neal had been trying to figure out whether whittling down their programs would help save Ellen's Place, but he hadn't seen any way. "Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"  
  
Gless sat down on Neal's sofa with the portfolio in his hands. "What you've already done for me, Mr. Caffrey, is the most important service anybody has ever provided me. In return, I'd like to do something for you."  
  
"Just make sure Lindsey's okay. That's all I ask. I know that it may have seemed unnecessary to delay you the other evening--"  
  
"No. I understand what you were doing, and I appreciate it. I stayed home with my daughter yesterday, and I spent some time looking into your organization here."  
  
Neal wasn't sure where the conversation was headed. Did Gless have a problem with some of the demographic of teens they served? "What are your concerns?"  
  
"I'm concerned that you seem to be in a rather dire financial situation."  
  
Neal opened and closed his mouth. Their finances weren't public information, but he wasn't too surprised that Gless was able to research them through back channels. "We're working on fundraising."  
  
Gless nodded then opened his portfolio and handed a piece of paper across the desk to Neal. It was a printed check with many, many zeroes in the amount box. Neal's heart pounded in his ears but he felt sick as he tried to hand the check back. "This is extremely generous of you, but I can't accept payment for helping to find Lindsey."  
  
Mr. Gless wouldn't take the check back. "It's not payment, it's a donation. Mr. Caffrey, if I didn't have my daughter this money wouldn't mean anything. It's worth it to me to help you help other children who don't have what my Lindsey does."  
  
Neal swallowed thickly, his throat nearly too dry to speak. "And what do you expect in return?" As much as they needed the money, if he wanted to change their mission Neal couldn't allow that.  
  
"I expect that you'll use my company's logo on any promotional materials, t-shirts, what-have-you. Six months from now, come to me with your finances in order and your plan for the future, including programs, fundraising and expenses, and if I like what I see your organization will be added to our annual corporate giving program."  
  
Neal's head spun. "This is--I'm sorry, it's overwhelming."  
  
"I understand that. I'll leave you in a moment, but I do have one small request."  
  
 _What now?_ "Yes?"  
  
"If you can find something for her, Lindsey would like to be a volunteer. She wants to come speak with you herself, but she's worried that you think poorly of her."  
  
"Not at all. Please, tell her I'd love to have her as a volunteer. We'll talk and figure out the best fit for her interests. She can call me any time."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"No. Mr. Gless, I don't have any idea how to thank you enough."  
  
"Just keep up the good work." He closed his portfolio and stood, and Neal shook himself out of his daze enough to stand a shake his head. "Have a good afternoon, Mr. Caffrey."  
  
Neal watched the man go then stumbled over to sit on his sofa with his elbows on his knees. He had ideas and plans rushing through his head, and he knew he needed to talk to the lawyer and June and Peter and Sara, but for the moment all he could do was breathe into his hands and try to believe that what had just happened was real.  
  
~~~  
  
Peter was sitting at his desk in the bullpen, making his way through utterly boring paperwork, when his phone buzzed with a text from Neal.  
  
 _Can you leave early enough to meet me for dinner after work? The Polish place on 2nd? My treat._  
  
The department was busy, but Peter was the odd man out, only working part-time until he was approved for full active duty. Diana had been assigned to partner with a newer addition to the department, and Peter got the pleasure of taking care of the work nobody else wanted to do. Dinner out with Neal sounded like an excellent reason to leave the office on time. _Sounds good. 5:30?_  
  
 _Perfect. Love you._  
  
Peter smiled and let the warmth of the last two words spread through him as he returned to his scutwork.  
  
Later, when he walked into the little Eastern European restaurant downtown, Peter found Neal already waiting for him at a table with a cup and a small pot of tea in front of him. There was something different about Neal, but Peter couldn't quite place it. He hadn't had a haircut, his clothes were the same, but there was something different in the set of his face, the way he held his body. He certainly didn't look like anything bad had happened, but Peter couldn't help feeling a twinge of nervousness as he sat down at the small table across from Neal.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"I can't just want to have dinner with you?" Neal took a sip of his tea.  
  
"Of course you can, but I get the impression there's something else."  
  
"Always the detective." Neal gave Peter a fond smile that let Peter relax back into his chair. "Stuart Gless came to my office, and he gave me--" Neal took a shaky breath in and out. "He gave me back the future of Ellen's Place."  
  
"What did he do?"  
  
Neal pulled out his phone and tapped at the screen a few times. "I saw the lawyer, and I've already deposited it, but I took a picture for posterity." Neal handed his phone over, and Peter saw a photo of a check. He tapped on the screen to zoom in on the amount then just sat staring at it, lost for words.  
  
"Jesus Christ. Congratulations! I've never seen a check like this in real life."  
  
"Imagine how I felt when he handed it to me. And Peter, if we can get everything straight in the next six months, he wants to donate annually. This--" Neal swallowed hard and shook his head. "A quarter of this would have let us keep the doors open. I'm not even sure how exactly we're going to _spend_ this."  
  
"I know there's a lot to plan, a lot to think about, but you need to pay yourself a full-time salary. You more than earn it, and you should upgrade Sara's position too. I know you want it all to go to the programs and services, but somebody has to run those things, and the way you've been doing it isn't sustainable."  
  
"You're right. I know you're right. It's a lot to think about right now, but I'll figure it out."  
  
"You will, though you don't have to do it alone. For now, let's just figure out dinner." Peter quickly looked at the menu, and when he put it down the waitress came over to take their order. As Peter ate his plate of pierogies, he kept thinking about the possibilities for Ellen's Place now that they had better funding. There had been a time when he would have spent dinner thinking about his open cases, but he realized that he wasn't sure how long it had been since he cared that much about his work.   
  
The last case he remembered really caring about was Neal's, and going back before that he wasn't sure. Most of it blended together, and the times when Peter had felt like he truly made a difference were few and far between.  
  
At home after dinner, they went to bed early, both of them exhausted from the busy, stressful week. Peter woke in the middle of the night to movement and rolled over to see Neal sitting on the side of the bed, his torso curled slightly forward. He was breathing quickly, and he startled when Peter reached over to put a hand on his back. "Whoa, hey, are you sick?"  
  
Neal nodded his head then shook it. "I can't stop thinking," he said before pausing to take a breath. "My heart's racing--and it's making me feel kind of--kind of sick."  
  
Peter shifted around to sit next to Neal on the bed with his hand still flat on Neal's back. "Do you want to take a pill?"  
  
"No." He took another few unsteady breaths then nodded. "Okay."  
  
"I'll be right back." Peter went off to the bathroom to get a cup of water and one of the low-dose anti-anxiety pills Neal kept for occasional use. Back in the bedroom, he found Neal much as he'd left him, but with both arms wrapped around his middle. "Okay, here you go."  
  
Neal unwound enough to take the pill with a sip of water then sat staring at the glass of water trembling in his hand until Peter took it away and put it on the bedside table. Neal shivered, and Peter snagged the coverlet from the end of the bed to wrap around his shoulders then put his arms around Neal to hold him close. "Is this okay?"  
  
Neal nodded. "Sorry." He took a long, shaky inhale then exhaled more smoothly. "I didn't mean to wake you up."  
  
"Right, because I'm really upset about that." Peter rubbed Neal's shoulder through the thin blanket. "Did you have a nightmare?"  
  
"No. I woke up, and I was thinking about the money, about all the programs it could fund. You were right, that I should make my position full-time, salaried. This whole mess--" Neal paused and swallowed hard. "It could've been avoided if we'd had somebody paying enough attention to the administrative end, and clearly I wasn't. I should be so grateful because I love being at Ellen's Place, I love helping the kids, I love carrying on Ellen's work, but to do that job right I have to give up my own art, probably have to give up some of the informal time I spend with the kids, and I don't want that." Neal squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. "I don't want it, but I don't see any other way. I can't bring in some stranger. I can't."  
  
"Hey. Hey." Peter rubbed Neal's shaking back with slow, firm strokes. "I think there are some options you're not considering here. What about Sara?"  
  
"She hates the paperwork more than I do. Besides, she works part-time in sales, and she makes far more than we could pay her even now for a full-time position. It's not going to work."  
  
The thoughts and doubts that had been moving through Peter's head for days--months, really--coalesced into an idea. "What about me?" he asked quietly.  
  
Neal pulled out of Peter's arms just enough to look up at his face. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Let's get a little more comfortable, huh?" Peter moved to lean against the headboard with a pillow behind his back, and when Neal was in place next to him Peter pulled up the covers and passed the glass of water back over to Neal. "The way I'm looking at it, there are a few main functions that can be divided up different ways. There's the early childhood program, and it seems like Sara does a great job of heading that up. There's the teen outreach and art program, and nobody could do that job the way you do."  
  
"I can't give that up."  
  
"I know. There's the sports program maybe, if we continue to expand it, and you know I'm on board for that. What's left then is the office work--making the budget, paying the bills, working within the bureaucracy."  
  
Neal groaned. "It's a nightmare."  
  
Peter rubbed lightly at the back of Neal's neck. "And so Sara has her outside job, and you have your art. I don't want to see you lose that, and I can't believe that Ellen would have wanted that either. The obvious solution is, well, me."  
  
"You can't do this job and be a detective at the same time. It's too much."  
  
"I know. That's why, if you think this is a good plan, I'm going to resign from the force."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"It makes sense. I have the background to do the books and to interface with law enforcement when necessary. I can take a class on grant writing; I'm sure it's not brain surgery. And I'll stay involved with the kids through the sports program. It sounds pretty great to me, actually. If that's not enough to keep me busy, I can do some work on the side, get my name out there for forensic accounting maybe."  
  
"I can't believe--I thought that the PD was like a family for you."  
  
"It was, and there are some people there who still are family to me, but the department as a whole? It doesn't feel like home anymore."  
  
"So, if we weren't together, you think you would be considering giving up your job as a detective to work for a non-profit? Really?"  
  
Peter considered the question for a minute. "This has been building for longer than I've known you, and it's a lot bigger than you or me. There are systemic problems that I can't fix or even touch in any meaningful way. Especially after getting hurt, having that time away, I think that even if I'd never met you I would be looking for another direction to go in my life. I don't know what I would have found, but I can't think of anything better than this."  
  
Neal sighed and leaned into Peter's side as he sipped at his glass of water. "I don't think this is a decision we can make in the middle of the night."  
  
"I think we can make the decision to consider it. Talk to Sara, talk to the lawyer and whoever else you want to consult. I'm going to talk to Hughes and look at my options. The main thing is that you need to know that there are solutions that don't involve you giving up your creative work."  
  
"Thank you." Neal's voice was sleepy now, and Peter took the empty water glass from his lax hand. Neal turned his head to rest his cheek on Peter's shoulder as he mumbled, "love you."  
  
"I love you too." Peter nudged Neal until they were both stretched out on the bed again, and when he closed his eyes he felt Neal's slow, steady breaths on his cheek. He thought about the safe that held his badge and his service weapon, and imagining them gone didn't hurt at all.  
  
~~~  
  
Over the course of the next few weeks, Neal started to feel like he could breathe again in a way he hadn't for far too long. Hours spent in meetings with the lawyer, Peter, Sara and June had yielded a solid plan for the future of Ellen's Place, and Neal couldn't help thinking that Ellen would have been proud. Peter's doctor had released him to work full-time, and Peter had celebrated that by submitting a letter of resignation to Captain Hughes.  
  
Neal still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that in one more week Peter would no longer work for the NYPD. In his studio at June's house, Neal looked at the painting he had made so many months ago, the man with a shiny gold badge obscuring his face. Even then, Neal had known that Peter was more than his badge, but he hadn't ever imagined that the badge was something Peter could put down, something he could walk away from without regret. Neal kept watching Peter carefully, waiting to see if the process of winding down his career with the NYPD was making him want to change his mind, but all he saw was Peter looking happier, more content.  
  
Neal put a freshly prepared canvas on his easel and looked at the way the morning sunlight that streamed in through the large windows created a subtle, shadowed texture on the blank, white surface. He had climbed out of bed early that morning, intent on getting some studio time in now that his mind was starting to settle down enough for him to summon some creative energy. Peter had still been in bed, and as the play of light on the canvas reminded Neal of the rumpled texture of the sheets an idea started to come together.  
  
As he started to sketch out the rough lines of the image in his mind, Neal realized that what he was working on wasn't just another painting to keep or to sell. It was a statement, a gift, a blind but trusting step toward the future. He wanted it to be perfect.  
  
~~~  
  
Peter's last day as a detective came more quickly than he had imagined it would. Four weeks had passed since that frantic, late-night conversation with Neal, and Peter found himself shaking hands and saying good-bye to men and women he had worked around for years. He hugged Diana but didn't say good-bye; she was a regular volunteer at Ellen's Place now, and with the expansion of the athletics program he knew he'd be seeing her often. Captain Hughes was retiring, his departure coming only a few weeks after Peter's, and Peter promised to take him up on his invitation to get out of the city for a fishing trip. There were people here that he cared about, but he didn't have to leave them behind.  
  
What he did leave behind was the gun, the badge and the sense that he was stuck in a position where he wasn't doing anything worthwhile with his life. In the morning of Peter's first day as a full-time employee of Ellen's Place, Peter spent some time on paperwork then accepted a shipment of new equipment for the gym. He corralled a couple of the teens who were spending time upstairs and put them to work helping him assemble all the bits of metal and plastic into a functioning piece of equipment. It was just a rack for holding free weights and an incline bench, but it was a start.  
  
Peter was glad to have the physical work to keep him busy through the later part of the morning because the closer he got to the lunch date he'd arranged with Neal the less he was able to concentrate on the work in front of him. Over the weekend, he'd made a decision--though in a sense he felt like it was less of a decision than a foregone conclusion. He could only hope that Neal felt the same way. They were already at the beginning of something new together, changes in both of their careers that would allow both of them to do more of what they did best, and Peter thought there was no time like the present to make a change in their personal lives too.  
  
When he left Ellen's Place just after noon the day was bright and pleasant, and Peter decided to go by his favorite sandwich shop to pick up lunch. They could eat at June's if Neal wanted to stay inside, but Peter liked the prospect of having a little picnic in the park. Peter thought about going the conventional route, going down on one knee in some expensive restaurant that Neal would love, but he knew he'd feel like a fool with everybody watching him, and he didn't trust his own taste when it came to picking out rings. In the end, a grand romantic gesture was the last thing that would make Peter actually feel romantic, but lunch in the park, a conversation, a question--those were things that Peter liked, especially when they involved Neal.  
  
Peter took a deep breath as he climbed the stairs to June's front door, but Neal opened the front door of June's house before Peter could knock.  
  
"Hi," he said, smiling. "I was going to wait for you outside, but I guess you were too fast for me."  
  
"I was hoping to sneak a peek at what you're working on up there, but I guess you were too fast." Peter gave Neal a quick peck on the lips then took his hand as they walked down the front stairs.  
  
"Where do you want to go for lunch?"  
  
"I brought sandwiches, thought we could eat in the park. What do you think?"  
  
"Perfect." Neal looked up and sighed contentedly. "It's a beautiful day."  
  
They walked the handful of blocks from June's house to one of their favorite spots in Riverside Park and found an unoccupied bench with a view of the river. Peter unpacked the simple picnic lunch he'd brought: sandwiches, bottles of water, and a container of strawberries.  
  
"You were at Ellen's Place this morning?" Neal asked.  
  
"I was, and everything's good. Some more of the new equipment came in, and I got most of it set up."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Don't. You know how much I want to be there, and it's my job now after all." Peter held up the container of strawberries, and Neal took one. Peter followed suit, and as the bright, sweet taste filled his mouth he thought about what he was about to do and his heart raced with a mix of joy and fear.  
  
Neal put his hand on Peter's wrist. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"You seem off. You feel all right?"  
  
"I feel great." Peter swallowed down his nerves and told himself it was time to do this thing before Neal got any more worried. "Actually, I'm just a little bit nervous because I have something to ask you."  
  
"Is this about the fishing trip thing? Because I still don't want--"  
  
"Will you marry me?"  
  
"--to--" Neal's eyes widened. "Peter?"  
  
"Will you marry me?" Peter repeated, more quietly.  
  
Neal broke into a wide smile and took a shaky breath in and out, finally nodding. "Yes. Yes I will."  
  
They pulled each other into a frantic kiss, mindless of the people walking by, mindless of anything other than the love between them and the happiness ahead of them. It was long minutes before they separated and discovered that they were both a mess with strawberries crushed on their clothes.  
  
Neal laughed and peeled a berry from Peter's shirt then stuck it in his mouth with a wicked grin. "Come back to June's with me? There's something I want to show you."  
  
"Does it involve you naked?"  
  
"Well, that too."  
  
"Then by all means, let's go to June's." Peter threw away the remains of lunch and brushed himself off as much as possible. Neal reached out as they walked back up the path, and Peter took his hand. He didn't ever want to let go.  
  
Back at June's house, Neal hesitated before opening the door to his studio. "I guess you know I've been working on a painting."  
  
Peter nodded. "If you don't want me to see it, that's okay."  
  
"No, I do. I finished it yesterday, and I was working on building the frame this morning." Neal opened the door and drew Peter over to the easel only to hang back as Peter walked around to get a look at the painting.  
  
The canvas was a bed, much of it covered with rumpled sheets that draped over the form of two men's bodies. The focus of the painting wasn't on their faces or on the way the soft angles of their bodies fit together. Instead, Peter's gaze was drawn to their hands which were clasped together on top of the covers, matching gold bands glinting where they rested against each other. Peter's chest felt tight, his throat full, and when Neal stepped in close behind him he closed his eyes.  
  
"Say something?" Neal sounded uncertain, and Peter didn't think he could speak so he turned around and looked at Neal, hoping that his face would communicate his feelings. Neal looked back, and after a moment his face relaxed into a gentle smile. "So, you beat me to the punch."  
  
"Sorry," Peter said, his voice rough. "It's beautiful."  
  
"It's what I see." Neal put his hand on Peter's chest, and his solemn expression broke into a grin. "Look at us. We look like we fell in somebody's berry patch. Hold on." Neal walked away and returned with two robes. "I can put our clothes in the washer downstairs before the stains set."  
  
Peter wasn't averse to anything that involved watching Neal undress down to his boxers. He took off his own clothes and handed them over before pulling on the robe. It was a little bit snug around the shoulders, but it covered Peter enough that he wandered out onto the terrace while Neal disappeared with the dirty laundry. The stonework of the balustrade felt warm through the thin cotton of Peter's robe, and he tilted his head back to let the spring sunshine warm his face. When he opened his eyes, the city was wide open in front of him, and it felt right like the way his future with Neal had opened up the moment Neal said yes.  
  
Peter heard the doors open behind him and turned around to see Neal walk out onto the terrace in his robe with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.  
  
"You keep champagne on hand for occasions like this?"  
  
"I borrowed it from June. She's not home, but I'm pretty sure she won't mind. She likes you, after all."  
  
"She didn't at the beginning. She can be a scary woman when she wants to be."  
  
"Right." Neal laughed at the idea as he worked on uncorking the bottle. When it finally opened with a pop, Neal poured the champagne into the glasses and handed one to Peter. Drinking in the middle of the day felt decadent, and Peter closed his eyes as the tiny bubbles fizzed in his mouth and the back of his throat. When he opened his eyes, Neal refilled both of their glasses then stepped around the table to sit down on the chaise lounge.  
  
Neal tipped his head back to take a sip then put the glass down on the floor and untied the sash of his robe to reveal nothing but bare skin.  
  
"Neal!" Peter looked around, half expecting to see somebody watching them, aghast, but they were alone.  
  
"Nobody's going to disturb us." Neal relaxed back against the cushions and opened his legs wider. "Come here."  
  
Peter's heart raced and he looked around again before pulling his boxers down. He felt the light breeze move against his skin and pubic hair, and he was half hard already when he straddled the chaise lounge and gingerly sat down between Neal's thighs. "This thing isn't going to collapse under us, is it?"  
  
"June only buys the best, don't worry." Neal leaned forward and Peter met his lips for a kiss that went to his head like another glass of champagne. Despite the sun on Peter's back and the breeze in his hair, the moment felt more private now that they were sitting facing each other, the open sides of Peter's robe hanging around their hips. He reached between them and wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. Pressed up against each other he could feel the small differences in girth and length and see the different shades as their skin flushed with arousal.  
  
Neal wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders to pull him closer, and they kissed while Peter pumped his hand between their bodies. When Neal tipped his head back against the cushion, taking jagged breaths as he got close to the edge, Peter pressed his lips to Neal's throat to feel the rushing pace of his pulse. When Neal's breath caught in his chest, Peter looked down and watched him come, a thick stream that splattered both of their chests.  
  
As Neal's cock softened, Peter let it slip from his hand and jacked himself harder until he came in a frantic rush before slumping forward to rest against Neal's chest. A stronger breeze kicked up around them, blowing a gust of air that sent Peter's robe fluttering up from his back to bunch around his shoulders, but he didn't care. The only thing he cared about was Neal, warm and sweaty beneath him.   
  
Eventually, they would get up from the much abused chaise lounge and tie their robes closed again. They would finish off the slightly warm champagne and take turns cleaning up in Neal's narrow shower stall before putting on their newly cleaned clothes. They would take a long walk together and go ring shopping in the diamond district and talk about their plans for the future. Eventually, eventually, but Peter wasn't in any hurry. None at all.


End file.
